


time waster

by mikkal



Series: giggle not into the abyss [8]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Short & Sweet, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 05:11:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16361471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkal/pseuds/mikkal
Summary: Noctis is sick. Ignis is fond. Really, it's just short and a little sweet.





	time waster

**Author's Note:**

> Twofer!  
> Whumptober Day 8 "Fever" and fictober day 8 "I know you do."
> 
> I will finish all prompts....just maybe not all in October? :sweatdrop: It's been a bit busy. Sorry!

“Iggy—.”

            The knife Ignis is holding clatters to the ground, narrowly missing his bare toes by millimeters, as he whirls around in a panic. “Noct!” he exclaims, rushing over just as Noct loses his battle with gravity and goes tipping forward. “By the Six, Noct,” he says, lower and more admonishingly.

            “Oh, hey,” he slurs into Ignis’ sleep shirt, a dead weight in his arms. “This is comfy.”

            Ignis sighs fondly, adjusts his grip so his prince’s chin is no longer digging into his clavicle. Noct whines at the shifting. “I’ve got you,” he assures him.

Noct tilts his face into the crook of Ignis’ elbow, his skin burning with fever. “I know you do.”

“Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Noctis huffs his reply but manages to get his feet back under him to help Ignis help him into the carpeted section of the hotel room. He trips a few times, complaining of numb nerves, clings to Ignis with white knuckles and lasting intents in the older man’s skin. Ignis doesn’t care for the marks, keeps his grip tight and sits Noctis on the rumpled bed.

He lands on the mattress heavily with a grunt then a groan, squeezing his eyes shut. “Too fast,” he mumbles, pressing the heel of his hand against is forehead.

Ignis hums. “My apologies,” he says. He gently nudges the hand away, places the back of his own hand in its place. He’s still over-warm, still burning with a fever under his skin that’s turning his face pale except for two bright pink spots high on his cheeks, but he’s not boiling like he had been only a few hours ago.

Noctis leans into the touch, sighing in contentment. His hand probably feels cool in comparison. Ignis tsks, moves to run his hand through sweat soaked locks instead.

“Why did you get up?” Ignis asks.

“’m bored,” Noct whines, his head lolling to look up at Ignis. It takes him a second to realize he’s practically looming over his prince. “I hate staying in bed all day.”

Ignis chuckles. “If you’re feeling well enough to be bored, then surely you can help me in the kitchen.” Noct pulls a face. “Thought so.” He continues petting him. “Prompto will be back with Gladio soon, I’m sure he’ll be more than willing to entertain you.”

Noct shakes his head. “I want it to be _you_ ,” he says, lower lip jutting out in a pout and his eyes turning soulful and pleading. As kids that look always worked on him, always managed to pull Ignis in whatever grand scheme Noctis cooked up this time.

Most of it had been the look, the rest of it was just Ignis hoping to bring a little bit of laughter back into the prince’s life after the attack when he was eight—always an attack, never an accident. No one is daft enough to believe it to be so.

“We hardly get to spend time together anymore,” Noct continues even as his words start to mush together and his weight lists towards the side in fever-induced exhaustion. “I miss you.”

Ignis swallows the lump in his throat. “We’re together almost every day at all hours,” he reminds him, but it’s a weak attempt. They both know this.

Noct shakes his head again, a little more insistent. “No,” he says firmly, carefully shaping his mouth around the word. “You driving, cooking, hunting, and me happening to just be there isn’t the same.”

He helps Noct lay down despite a few half-baked protests. Ignis trails the tip of his pointer finger from the middle of Noct’s forehead, down the bridge of his nose, and to the tip of it, making him go cross-eyed. He’s enthralled enough into the fever to let out an uncharacteristic giggle, one Ignis rarely hears and makes him smile.

“Get better,” Ignis suggests, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hip at Noct’s hip, nearly touching. “And we’ll see if we can’t make a day of it.” A two-week trip stretching into months now with no end in sight. They must hurry, but half the time it’s, as Gladio says, ‘hurry up and wait.’ They could spare a day or two for shenanigans.

Noct twists onto his side, curling around Ignis’ lap like a too large cat. He hums, closing his eyes, pressing his nose into Ignis’ hip. “Sounds like a plan,” he murmurs. And promptly falls asleep.

Ignis roll his eyes. Noct has effectively trapped him here on his bed, wrapped around him like this. So much for making dinner.


End file.
